Dangerous Secrets

Fifteen

Friday

November 25

“So, what are we doing here, Nick? And why couldn’t I go to work today?”

Charity looked worriedly over at her lover. He had white stripes of tension around his mouth, jaw muscles clenched, big hands clutching the wheel so tightly the knuckles were white. He was looking grim and tense, as if privy to very bad news, though she couldn’t imagine what.

Just looking at him made her tense, too.

Nick had been enigmatic and distant all morning, yet feverish with some secret plan. Mysterious and rushed. He’d insisted that she put on her prettiest dress and call in sick, which she’d refused. Nick pressed, and normally Charity would have given in, but she drew the line at pretending to be sick. It was dishonest. She was a lousy liar, even if she wanted to lie, which she didn’t. The words would have choked in her mouth.

However, she did have tons of time off coming, so she finally caved in to Nick and phoned Mrs. Lambert to ask whether she could replace her for the day.

They were parked near Adams Square, in the courthouse parking lot, waiting for…something. Charity had no idea what and no idea why.

Nick’s lovemaking last night had been…intense. Wild, actually. He’d pushed her into new territory, a place where she had hardly recognized herself. If she shifted in the car seat, she could still feel him inside her. It seemed as if he’d touched every inch of her body last night. She could still see his beautiful face, a lock of black hair falling over his forehead, gorgeous blue eyes staring into hers. His gaze never wavered from hers as he pumped in and out of her, claiming her in every way there was.

Charity had felt turned inside out, so strongly attuned to him that she knew what he wanted from her before he asked. They’d moved almost as one together, all night. A new creature, a fusion of two bodies. She’d fallen asleep in his arms only in the early morning and had been appalled when she’d woken up at nine. The library opened at nine thirty.

Before she could jump out of bed, Nick had tightened his arms around her, rolling her over and entering her in one smooth movement. They’d made love so much during the night that she was still wet. Pinning her down with his weight, Nick refused to move until she promised she’d skip work today and come with him for a surprise. No amount of wriggling budged him. It was so frustrating, she finally agreed and with a hot gleam in his eye, his hips finally started moving. He laughed when she came immediately.

But laughing Nick was gone and grim Nick had taken his place. He had been completely silent on the drive into town and now he simply sat there in the driver’s seat, holding on to the steering wheel as if to a lifeline and staring silently out the window.

What could he possibly be looking at? The sky was pewter gray, so overcast it looked more like evening than late morning, bestowing a dull cast on everything. To the left, lost in the fog, was the Parker’s Ridge equivalent of Fifth Avenue—Revere Street, three blocks of old-fashioned shops, with nary a boutique or a chain in sight. To the right was Kingsbury Square, the snow making the rhododendrons look like huge puffs of pink-white cotton. Ahead was the gray cement wall of the new courthouse, a 1960s monstrosity everyone hated.

Should she tell Nick the story of spearheading the campaign to have it torn down? He usually loved her Parker’s Ridge stories, as if she were an anthropologist telling exotic tales of life in a tribe in a faraway country.

No, maybe right now he wasn’t in the mood for Parker’s Ridge stories. Not with his jaw muscles jumping so hard it was a miracle he didn’t crack a tooth.

One of the many things that had happened last night, and that had changed her forever, was that Charity had completed the process of becoming attuned to Nick and his moods. The intense sex, the blinding pleasure, his body in hers for hours, had transformed her. It was as if she were made of iron filings and he was the magnet. She was sensitive to every breath he took, every move he made.

Right now she could tell he was in the grip of some strong emotion. The very air molecules in the car were buzzing with it. Nick was radiating something and she couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Anger? No, that wasn’t it. Sadness? Not quite. Whatever it was, it disturbed him deeply.

His hands unclenched and fisted once more around the wheel, as if he were bracing himself against something.

She repeated her question. “What’s so important I couldn’t go in to work this morning? And it better be good because I’ve never missed a day of work in my life.”

His jaw muscles worked heavily as he turned to her, face serious.

“Charity, I—” He stopped. It was the first time she’d ever seen him at a loss. So odd, her graceful, articulate Nick, searching for words.

And then it hit her, a sledgehammer blow to her heart, followed by an icy chill that left her shaking.

Oh my God! Of course. Foolish, foolish Charity. How on earth could she have missed the signs? It would have been immediately clear to any woman with a little more experience than she had in beginning and ending affairs. She was going to pay a very heavy price for being so out of the dating scene.

He’s leaving, she thought, and her heart gave another sharp blow in her chest. He’s leaving today and he doesn’t know how to tell me. He’ll be gone by nightfall.

Nick was a gentleman. No wonder he hadn’t wanted her to go into work. He hadn’t wanted to say his good-byes on the library steps. Perhaps he wanted to take her out to lunch, break the news to her gently, and now he was finding it difficult. Probably more difficult than he’d bargained for.

Just as she was finding it difficult to take in a breath. Something big and heavy was pressing in on her chest. She had to choke back the grief rising in her throat.

She’d known all along he’d leave. It was inevitable, the way of the world. She’d even steeled herself to be stoic when the time came. It’s just that she never thought the time would be quite so…soon.

Today was Friday. A week ago, he’d shown up in her life and they’d been practically living together ever since. The incredibly intense sex had hurried things along in her heart, but racing alongside the blinding physical pleasure had been all the small things that had made her fall in love with him.

A kind of steadiness, a—a manly kind of inner calm that she’d associated only with her father and her uncle, two men of a different era, never with a virile, sexy, relatively young man. A man with a strong internal compass, with no need to impress and, by the same token, no need to put others down. A careless kindness, which he wouldn’t even recognize as such, but she did. He had an old-fashioned male courtliness that delighted her.

And the biggie—the way he’d completely come through for her with Aunt Vera. If she lived to be a hundred she would never forget the sight of him coming out of the swirling snow with her aunt in his arms, and the tender way he handled Uncle Franklin, quietly ensuring that the house would be alarmed without alarming her uncle. Few men would have been capable of that.

In her experience, modern men didn’t do things like that. They stepped away from responsibility, not toward.

Then, of course, his looks. An entirely male beauty she’d never had the pleasure of encountering before. You had to put that on the scale, too. She was as susceptible to eye candy as the next woman. The incredible pleasure of touching him, all over. Running her hand along that perfect cheekbone, tracing the beautiful line of his mouth, the strong line of his jaw. Those had been moments of perfection, forever embedded in her heart, which would fade away only when she closed her eyes for the last time.

Maybe she had known it wouldn’t—couldn’t—last, but though the knowledge had been right there in the back of her mind all along, like low dark clouds on the horizon, it had been oh-so-easy to forget it. Forget that this was a passing thing.

It wasn’t a passing thing for her. She’d fallen hard and fast and deep. And this was It.

It had taken her twenty-eight years to find love, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine lightning striking twice. It wouldn’t come again in her lifetime.

The Prewitt curse. In the three hundred years of Prewitt history she was aware of, there’d never been a divorce, never been a second marriage. Prewitts were like wolves. Or pigeons. Or voles. They mated once, and for life. This was good, unless you were twenty-one and widowed and spent the next seventy years mourning your husband, as her great-great grandmother had done.

Nick would go back to his Manhattan life, which was no doubt exciting, fast-paced, full of fascinating people and things, and she would stay here, tending Uncle Franklin and Aunt Vera and the library, growing older year by year, with only her memories of this remarkable week to sustain her.

Inside, she felt as gray and bleak as the weather outside. But she was a Prewitt. And, if nothing else, Prewitts had pride. Whatever else Nick had given her, he hadn’t given her promises and she had no right to expect them. She would meet the end of this affair with dignity. There would be plenty of time later to cry.

The rest of her life, in fact.

And so, when she turned to him, it was with a bland smile completely hiding her shattered heart.

“Whatever’s bothering you, Nick, you can tell me.” She even managed a smile. “I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

He paled. The ruddy, healthy color in his cheeks went. Oh God. This was going to be bad. He knew exactly how much he was going to hurt her, and it hurt him.

Though her stomach clenched in despair, she sketched a smile. Dignity. It was going to be the only thing left to her. She wrapped herself in it, forcing her hands not to tremble, forcing herself to look him straight in the eyes, forcing herself to breathe around the boulder in her chest.

He took in a sharp deep breath and she barely stopped herself from flinching when he opened his mouth.

“Charity…I have something to say to you.”

She nodded her head gravely. “Yes, Nick?”

“Charity, will you—”

He was going to ask a favor before leaving? Well, whatever it was he wanted, there was only one possible answer. Yes. He’d barged into her life, seduced her, and was now leaving, but she wouldn’t change a second of the past week. She’d lived more intensely, felt more deeply in the past seven days than in her entire life. He’d given her love. Even if only for a week, it was more than many people had. Anything in her power she had to give him was his for the asking.

He turned his head and looked her straight in the eyes, the muscles in his jaw working. There was a buzzing energy around him she couldn’t understand, but it was jarring, completely foreign to his calm nature.

Another sharp breath and it came out in a rush. “Charity Prewitt, will you marry me?”

It was the only thing Nick could think of, to keep her safe. Or as safe as he could manage.

His entry into Worontzoff’s lair had changed things, had somehow disturbed a pool that was deeper than he thought, with monsters residing on the bottom. He’d been expecting to enter, carry out a recon, then exit. Nothing he hadn’t done hundreds of times before. It was, after all, what he did.

But something was deeply wrong and he didn’t know exactly what. All he knew was that it involved Charity and that it scared the shit out of him, a man who didn’t scare easily.

He didn’t mind the feeling of danger encroaching. He’d chosen a risky path in life and this subliminal awareness, the kick to his senses, had saved his life more times than he could count. It was a tool he used, often and well, and he kept it shiny and well honed.

So the hot boiling feeling of things bubbling beneath the surface was fine. Worontzoff and his minions were dangerous men, and he was as ready as he could possibly be to deal with them, on 24/7 alert. He had the tools, the skills, the training and the will to strike back. What he was absolutely unequipped to deal with was a threat to Charity.

Worontzoff’s look, his possessive arm around Charity, the cold glance he’d given Nick, that fucking woody—it was clear that, in Worontzoff’s head, Charity was his. The fuckhead had actually convinced himself that Charity was Katya come to life. That Nick’s presence had made Worontzoff come out in the open and stake his claim made it even creepier. Nick’s presence had brought something to a head. Something cold and evil, which would roll right over Charity and leave her crushed and broken.

Last night he’d made love to her as if he could tuck her body into his, make her part of his flesh. As if all he had to do was fuck her hard enough, and she’d be safe for all time. But of course, he couldn’t, and morning came, bringing with it not only a clear-eyed analysis of the situation but this buzzing, itching, nagging feeling in his bones that something was going to come down soon. That someone was about to die.

There’d been a sickness in Worontzoff’s house, for all the elegant people, fine works of art, exquisite music. None of it, none of the beauty and culture mattered. It didn’t mean shit with the cold hand of death closing its gelid fist around it.

Since before he could talk, Nick could recognize evil, and it had been strong in that house.

He’d felt his death, or at least the possibility of his death. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was definitely the strongest death vibe he’d ever had.

The vague feeling he would die young sharpened, came into focus.

For the first time in his life, Nick was afraid to die. Terrified, even. If he went, Charity would be alone. He’d spent enough time with her to know that she was not protected in any meaningful way. Christ, even her house was unprotected. There was absolutely nothing around Charity, nothing to shield her from the evil of the world. From Worontzoff or his minions, when he turned on her, as he inevitably would.

Her family was an elderly, very frail couple who relied on her to help them. She wasn’t equipped in any way to save herself, if he wasn’t around. She didn’t have the mental tools to sense danger and defend herself.

Charity was light itself—goodness and grace, the very qualities which were the first to go when evil stepped out from the shadows. Bad guys focused in like a laser beam on people like Charity, wanting to wipe them from the face of the earth. Because they could, because the Charities of this world represented something they could never have and never control.

Charity could never be bought, never be forced. She’d die first and that was what had Nick terrified.

This buzz of imminent danger Nick was feeling was making him nauseous. He’d sweated the problem all morning.

For the time being, he was at her side. As long as he was alive, no one was going to touch her. But suppose he wasn’t alive? How the fuck could he keep Charity safe even if he bought it? How could he protect her, even from beyond the grave? It roiled around in his head, a dilemma with sharp edges that sliced, drew blood.

Though last night he’d fucked her frantically, for hours, when he finally quit because she was exhausted, he still couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t even come near it.

The early morning hours had been spent on his back, staring wide-eyed at the shadows in the ceiling, Charity snuggled up close to his side, head on his shoulder. He couldn’t hear her breathing and would have panicked if he hadn’t felt her narrow rib cage slowly rising and falling.

Such a thin line between life and death. He’d seen countless men and some women cross it. In battle, the line was crossed in a microsecond. You were there one moment, a fully alive, thinking human being, and the next you were meat.

Charity was crossing a minefield, with no one to look out for her. She could cross that line between life and death in a heartbeat.

Nick couldn’t stand even the thought of it. His head churned uselessly throughout the night, as he ran through improbable scenarios in his mind.

And then, as the sky turned from black to slate then pewter, a solution hit him. There was a way to keep her safe, even if he was snuffed. One thing he could do that would protect her no matter what happened to him.

Marry her.

Or rather, Nicholas Ames would marry her. Didn’t make any difference that Nicholas Ames didn’t exist. The important thing was that a member of the Unit, a federal agent, had married her.

It was against every rule that existed, even illegal, since he’d be using fake ID. It was unheard of, in the Unit, and in every law enforcement agency in existence. Undercover agents seduced, lied, cheated, and killed. But they didn’t marry, not while undercover.

The shit would hit the fan back in D.C. If he lived, they’d throw the book at him, his teammates would chew his ass out good, he’d probably have to retire in disgrace, but by God…it would work. Oh yeah.

If he got whacked, the Unit and all its resources, his teammates, even his boss would provide a shield for Charity, protect her. The Unit took care of its own. By marrying her, he would make Charity one of theirs. As soon as he announced the marriage, he’d make sure they understood that.

Charity was staring at him, light gray eyes wide.

“I—” She cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon? What did you say?”

Her astonishment brought a smile to his face, a lightness he hadn’t felt all morning. The way ahead was full of darkness and traps, but there might be a path through it, if he could just feel his way.

Nick took her left hand and slowly removed the supple kid glove. Her skin was soft, warm. He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her fingers, watching her eyes, choosing his words carefully.

“I know this sounds crazy, honey. We’ve only known each other a week. But it’s been a…very intense week. I know that I’ve never felt this way before about any other woman, and that’s not going to change. In my job, I’m forced to make fast decisions and so far, they’ve all been good ones. This one is a good one and time won’t change it in any way. I don’t want to wait. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

What was left of it, anyway.

Nick watched her carefully. Her hand had gone slack in his, then had tightened. What was she thinking?

“Marriage,” she whispered, eyes searching his.

It sounded crazy to him, too. But he had to convince her. Now that he’d come up with his plan, he couldn’t wait to put it into effect.

He nodded. “Marriage. Now.”

Her hand jerked in his. “Now? You mean—right now?” She looked at the gray courthouse wall. “Just…walk in and get married?”

“Yes. Right now.” He wished it were already done. He kissed her hand again. “I’m not certain, but I might have to go away on business next week, and I might stay away…awhile.” This time next week, he might be dead. “I want to know when I leave that you’re mine. Forever.” And alive, he added silently. “I’m thirty-four and I know myself. I know what I feel and I know this is serious. This is it.” He paused. “At least for me it is. I’m hoping you feel the same.”

“Yes, I do,” she said simply, and his heart soared. His lovely Charity. How typical of her. No coyness, no dancing around, no games. “Yes, I feel the same. That it’s serious, and true, and deep.”

“Exactly.” Inside, he exulted. This was going to work! He couldn’t think about when he’d leave. Right now, he was concentrated on getting her into the Unit’s protective embrace. “Now, you know and I know that we could have a long engagement. We could date for another six months, a year, and nothing would change except we’d be a year older. I’d still feel the same and I hope you would, too.”

She nodded, eyes unwavering on his.

“My job as a stockbroker is basically to understand not so much what to do but when to do it. I have an instinct for good timing. And my instinct says that this is the right thing to do. Right now.”

“Nick,” she said quietly, looking troubled, slowly sliding her hand from his. “You must understand, I can’t move to Manhattan, much as I’d like to. It would be exciting, and I can’t hide from you that I love the idea, but I have responsibilities here. I’m sorry. I don’t know if you can accept that.”

His heart squeezed and for a second he lost his voice.

She loved him. He knew that, or else he’d never have had this crazy idea, never could have hoped to make it work. It was there in the way she looked at him, touched him, fucked him. No—made love with him.

It spoke to her nature that she’d be willing to give up marriage to the man she loved for her elderly aunt and uncle.

“I don’t have to live in New York,” he said gently. “They have these fantastic inventions called the Internet and e-mail. I can do most of my business from here. What little I can’t do over the Net, I can take care of on short trips.”

With each word, he saw joy blossom more brightly on her face, artless and devastating, because he knew what he’d be leaving behind after he was gone. He was going to break her heart.

But—however miserable she’d be when he disappeared, however devastated and grief-stricken, she’d be alive, and that was what mattered. Nobody dies of a broken heart. They do die of a meat hook through the heart.

Nick was a hard man. Hard men made hard choices. And he’d made his.

“Come with me,” he murmured, lifting a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear. He gestured out the windshield at the big door set in the gray wall in front of them. “In there. We can be married in an hour. And since we’re doing this the unconventional way, afterward we can go shopping for rings. Soon, maybe next week or when the weather clears up, we can have a little reception for your folks and friends. I was thinking at Da Emilio’s. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, smiling. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“As long as they let me pay,” he added.

He stroked her face, the skin so soft. Warm. Alive. “I need to take care of something this afternoon, but I’ll be back by five, six at the latest.” A quick kiss. “And we’ll have our wedding night tonight.” He stirred, just thinking of it.

It came to him with a quick punch to his stomach that tonight he could be making love to his wife. Words he never thought he’d ever say. Not even in his head.

Even if the marriage lasted only a week or two, and he disappeared forever afterward, he’d have had that. More than he ever thought he’d have.

Nick nodded at the big steel doors leading into the courthouse. “What do you say, darling? Shall we get married?”

She didn’t say anything, just looked at him. Charity had an open face and Nick could always tell what she was thinking. All her emotions were up front and visible. Except now, when he couldn’t read her at all.

Charity said nothing. And it suddenly occurred to him that she hadn’t said yes yet.

Sweat gathered along his spine, under his arms. Fuck. It had never even occurred to him that she might say no. If she refused, what the hell was he going to do?

The only other option would be to take her into protective custody. Essentially jail her. And he’d do it, by God. Cuff her if he had to. Drag her into custody kicking and screaming and keep her there until this whole sorry mess was settled.

“So?” he growled.

Nick could feel his muscles tensing. The low, insistent noise of imminent danger in the back of his head dialed up a couple of notches. If she said no, he was taking her in, right now. To hell with Worontzoff. They could get Worontzoff on their own. Nick would go crazy worrying about her, compromise the mission, so the only way he could function was to restrain her and drive her immediately into Birmingham.

They’d put her in a safe house, under guard 24/7. Safe houses were miserably dingy at best, and most were downright seedy. He’d been in more than one with cockroaches. And anyone under guard in a safe house subsisted off stale pizza and beer. Standing guard in a safe house was the most boring security work imaginable and the only way men could stand it was to let themselves go. Inside a day, any safe house in the world looked and smelled like Animal House and the men on guard lost about twenty points off their IQ. Lighting farts was a big diversion on guard duty.

She’d hate it—used to pretty surroundings and perfumed rooms and cut flowers in vases and fresh fruit and vegetables. She’d hate being in a safe house, with no privacy, none of her things around her, guarded over by loutish, uncaring men.

“So,” he said again. He tried to keep his voice soft. Nicholas Ames, asking a woman he’d fallen in love with to marry him. Not Nick Ireland, willing to abduct her if she said no. “What’s your answer?”

Charity suddenly smiled, eyes shining. “Yes,” she said softly. “Oh yes!”